Reality and Memory
by Dr.Horus
Summary: Desmond is falling deeper and deeper into his memories, or are they even his?


**Umm...I don't know? Just a bit of musing. I always enjoyed finding the bits of the truth in AC2 and couldn't help but think if the sme thing that happened to sixteen happened to Desmond. Doot doot doo, don't mind me...**

**Assassin's creed characters belong to Ubisoft, not me, yada yada yada**

* * *

A scream pierced the quiet Jerusalem night. By this late hour most had gone to bed and have long since been fast asleep. The source of the agonized cries was building much like any other. On the roof a trail of blood led to an opening in the vine tangled lattice.

Inside the bureau a rafiq sat on his knees, hunched over a bloodied assassin. Altaïr's body arched to the sky, throwing his head back with a howl. His hands clenched in tight fists, desperately gripping the rug beneath him. Pain coursed through his body and forced its way to his very soul. A whimper escaped his mouth and he tried to curl in on his side, but was deterred but another spout of pain. Every nerve trembled beneath the solemn moonlight that filtered in through the lattice work.

Above him Malik struggled to hold the assassin's spasming body down with only one arm to stitch up his wound. He attempted to calm Altaïr but the words were drowned by another cry. Giving up on keeping him in place, Malik went back to his work of stitching the assassin back together.

Every time the needle ripped into his flesh another scream rent from his lips. He bit down on his lip, trying to deal with the agony, but only drew blood. Altaïr felt something hard and smelling of leather slip between his teeth. He didn't care what it was but ground his teeth into it, keeping the yells contained just barely. The screams were replaced by groans that still seemed to convey all of the agony that Altaïr suffered from.

Tears stung at Altaïr's eyes and he tried not to look at the gash ripped across his chest. His entire body shook with the pain inflicted by his wound. Blood poured down Altaïr's chest from the cut that Malik hastily endeavored to secure. His chin trembled from the exertion of trying to stay conscience.

As another pulse of pain shot through him, Altaïr felt his mind spiral down into darkness. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of Malik's voice trying to call him back.

* * *

Desmond shot up in his bed with a shout. He clutched at his chest, convinced he would find a bloody wound there, but discovering only smooth skin. His heart pounded inside him, feeling as if it bounced around inside his empty chest.

Desmond's breathes came in raged huffs that hardly let any air in. His eyes searched the dark room around him, looking for something familiar to calm himself mind. Finding nothing he wrapped his arms around his sweaty body and leaned his head forward on his knees.

_Just a dream. It's just a dream. _Desmond thought as he rocked himself back and forth. _No, a memory._ But it was long gone. Not even his memory. And yet...it had felt so real! The pain, the heat, the screams. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing tears down his cheeks. His mind reeled in confusion.

It was around this time that he heard footsteps rushing to his room. No doubt the others were wondering why he wouldn't stop moaning and yelling. _You have to get a hold of yourself, Altaïr. No, Desmond? Yes! I am Desmond! _How could he forget his own name? Who he was?

* * *

The streets of Venice were packed with people. Wives shopping for their families, merchants cooing for attention from potential customers, children scurrying around their mothers' skirts. The warm summer air was filled with the voices of so many numerous people, bartering over prices, scolding naughty children, or having a friendly conversation.

Amongst the crowds, unnoticed by so many, walked a white clothed stranger. Ezio's hood was pulled down low, hiding his eyes from those around him. He lifted his head ever so slightly to catch sight of his target.

Across the market was where he stood. The sun glinting off of his golden jewelry that decorated his neck and arms, matching his fine robes. He faced another man, also well dressed but less so, and spoke. Ezio couldn't hear their voices above the babble of the street, but then again it didn't matter. All that mattered was that this man was in league with the Templars and he needed to be put down.

Ezio gently pushed through the throng of citizens, headed for the man. getting closer Ezio zeroed in on the two guards on either side of the two men. Not a problem. As the distance between Ezio and his target quickly disappeared he contemplated ways to take care of the guards.

A simple stab in the gut for each would do. Or perhaps he could be a bit more elaborate and slit one's throat, while the other watched his brother die Ezio could easily jab his neck and crush his windpipe, leaving him to suffocate.

Opting for none of these choices Ezio decided on casually stabbing each in the throat simultaneously. The two guards didn't even notice Ezio until they were choking on their own blood.

The man beside the Templar saw the guards fall and sprinted away. The Templar himself tried to do the same but Ezio caught the collar of his clothes. With a powerful shove he threw the man against the wall, drawing blood from his victim's head.

"No, please!" he tried to reason with the assassin. Ezio almost smiled at his pathetic attempt to save his own life.

With an easy and practiced flick of his wrist, Ezio buried his hidden blade in the nobleman's stomach.

* * *

"Desmond?" Lucy's voice broke into Desmond's thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

He shook his head slightly, to clear it of the past and focused his eyes on the woman before him. "Huh?" Desmond managed.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "You alright? You looked kind of...out of it."

Desmond looked down into the mug he held between his hands. "Yeah." he replied lamely. He swirled the brown liquid around the confines of the white coffee cup.

His companion didn't seem to but into his poor excuse. "Listen, Desmond," Lucy started gently. "it's okay if you want to take a break frost a while. I don't want to make you go too far, alright?" Her eyebrows pinched together worriedly. Desmond could tell that he had upset her with his closed off attitude.

"Really, Lucy, I'm fine. Just a little tired is all. I can go back in in a little bit." Desmond promised her. Lucy stood, taking her own mug with her. "If you say so. Just, don't push yourself." She pursed her lips as if she wanted to say more, but instead she left Desmond to himself.

Desmond sighed as Lucy went. I have to pull myself together. If Lucy's starting to notice... His thoughts trailed off. Desmond took a deep sip from his coffee but then frowned. Cold.

Pushing himself up from the table, Desmond walked to the sink of the half-kitchen like area. He poured the drink out, watching in slip down the sides of the sink and down the drain.


End file.
